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"Give me thy lips again 
That I may swear my soul anczv to thee." 

— Ronald. 

"O that I had a thousand hearts to give 
Instead of one, 
And were a goddess now, 
Then heaven's lights would I pluck 
To zveave my lover s crown." 

— Beatrice. 



LOVE'S HOLY HOUR 



OR 



The Sacred Betrothal of Ronald and Beatrice 



A DRAMA OF THE WEDDING DAY 



NEANDER P. COOK 
II 



THE WEIMAR PRESS 

LOS ANGELES. CALIFORNIA 

1913 






COPYRIGHT 1913 
By P. COOK 



©CI.A358232 









Prefatory. 

Gentle Reader! This book, 
Like other tomes, 
Its pictures hath, 

But not zvith printer-presses painted. 
In thy oivn soul's color 
The images are draivn. 
Sit and ponder! 
The motto — text is given thee: 
The sermon preach thyself. 



'Tut off thy shoes 
From off thy feet: 
For the place whereon thou standest, 
Is holy ground." 

—Bible. 




PRAYER. 

* BRIDAL Hour, 
Thou Holy Hour of Love: 
Unfathomed Mystery 
Of Life's Eternal Throb : 

Grant) to this Youth and Maiden 

Their Prayer of Hope 

And once again fill a Cup 

With Eden's Bliss, 

That, to the Heart's coy Trysting come. 

Soul into Soul outpouring 

They may drink. 

Deep and full. 

Creation's Morning-Kiss. 




LIFE'S SYMPHONY. 

A Youth, a Maiden and a Kiss. 

HEY walked together, 
They talked together, 
His voice grew soft, 
Her heart beat loud. 

Softer still his voice 

Louder still her heart, 

Then language failed: 

A kiss — a conquered heart. 

'Tis done: 

The binding 

That shall have no unwinding. 



LOVE AND LIFE. 

An Essay. 

"Sitting at the ivhirrifig loom of time 
of the Intinife God, 
The living garment weaving." 

— Goethe. 

To the attentive observer of nature it soon becomes 
manifest that she has but one goal, viz., the super- 
abundance of Hfe: life in innumerable forms, in count- 
less variations and endless ecstasies, a mantle covering 
completely the habitable sphere, penetrating every 
nook and cranny in earth and sea and air, pulsating 
and throbbing with miraculous intensity, the very self- 
realization of the Infinite God. It is a harp of a thou- 
sand chords, of whose music our joys and sorrows 
form component parts and counterparts, but who He 
is that sounds it according to His will. Him we know 
only from afar, for we are but the finite atoms of the 
Infinite Soul pouring itself forth in eternal strains. 

Life is creative. It finds its fullest expression in a 
gradually advancing evolution through ceaseless self- 
renewal. All nature dies today in order that more 
triumphantly she may be re-born tomorrow. The old 
are passing on that there may be room for youth with 
new wooing days, so that life be not merely endless, 
but that immortality may run its course in a ceaseless 
nuptial kiss. 

It is in her wedding raiment, love's springtime, that 
nature is most beautiful and divine. Life's greatest 
achievement is Love. The Bridal Wreath is creation's 
crown. 



THE SACRED BETROTHAL OF RONALD 
AND BEATRICE. 

Dramatis Personae : 

Mom us, God of Satire. 

Amor, God of Love. 

Ronald, Knight of Ofterdingen, Bridegroom. 

B^AtRict, Daughter to' Lothar, Baron of Alt- 
NACH, Bride. 

LEonorf, Mother to Beatrice. 

Bridesmaids. 

Flower-Girls. 

Berthelind, Ethelried, Rosamund, Sisters to Bea- 
trice. 

Ragni, an Outcast. 

Cupid, God of Love. 

The Heavenly Choir. 

Naiad and NerEid, Bridal Nymphs. 

Cunina, the Disconsolate Nymph of Heaven. 

The Furies. 

Hera, Goddess of Health. 

Prayer of the Unborn. 

Eunice, the Unwooed, a Bridesmaid. 

Scene : 

Castle Ofterdingen, in the Thuringian Forests, in part. 
The Biysian Regions in Heaven, in part. Fen- 
salir, Temple of Immortality. Adnir, the Abode 
of the Unborn. 

Time: 

The Nuptial Day. 

Period : 

The Middle Ages. 



^:,.. 



10 



PRELUDE. 

Momus, god of satire. 
Amor, god of love. 

Momus (satirically), to Amor: 

On virgin tongues, 

Amor, there goes a tale 
Of two lovers. 

Named Tristan and Isolde, 
Which tale a riddle holds 

1 trow thou canst not solve. 

Isolde was daughter to a king, 
But Tristan not of royal blood. 
And as ever hadst thou thy mischief wrought 
That they who lawfully wed 
Ne'er truly love : 
Nor they that truly love 
May at the altar plight their troth. 
And as the statutes of j^ankind 
Ofttimes asunder part 
They whom the gods unite 
To save the state's foundation. 
It was decreed to break two hearts ; 
With sacred rite and legal pomp 
The maiden was to another wed, 
And Tristan to the desert banished. 

But that night Isolde 
Harnessed her snow-white doves. 
Who with heaven's aid 
To her lover carried her, 
And then died of the desert-thirst. 

'Twas more than three days' journey 
Into the wilderness, 
— So goes the tale — 
And no other shelter there 
Than in the stone the Minnegrotto cleft. 
Yet three years 
These lovers lived 
Content and happy there, 
And so witchingly each other loved 
That their love 
The hope of maidens is. 

11 



The Sacred Betrothal 

Now tell me, thou gay deceiver, 
Whence in the desert came their bread 
And whence their drink? 
For without temporal sustenance 
Soon vanishes 
Love's idle dream. 

Amor (seriously), to Monms: 

O Momus, to sceptics such as thou 
Truth opens not her silver mines. 
The tale is true. 

For where love is, there is no desert. 
And what they ate and drank ? — 
The lovers on each other gazed : 
The harvest of the eye 
Was their food sufficient. 
Each other's confidence 
And openheartedness. 
Which is the true bread 
Of wedded souls, 

These were the fruits they freely plucked. 
So true their love, 
So pure their hearts. 
That sun and moon and stars 
These trusting souls their favor showed. 
It is no mystery : , 
Stony wastes are not love's limit 
And plighted hearts from obstacles 
Draw the relish of their feast. 

INTERLUDE. 
The Maiden and Her Trousseau. 

A maiden singing: 

My heart is hopeful, 
My heart is heai'y, 
My heart is singing, 
My heart is dumb, 
The Hozver once plucked 
Can never bloom again. 
Short is the morning-kiss 
And long the day: 
A tzvo-fold meaning 
Hath the bridal dress. 



12 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 



ACT I. BEATRICE. 
Prolog. 

'Twas a June day memorable : 
The birds sang sweeter, 
And the evening star shone brighter, 
When Lord Ronald 
The Lady Beatrice did wed : 
For never gallant knight 
A lovelier maiden 
To her bridal consecration led. 



BEATRICE'S FAREWELL TO HER 
TRYSTING-PLACE. 

A copse near the casflc on the Oftcrdingen estate. 

Beatrice, before donning lier bridal garments, has 
absented herself from the festivities, to take fare- 
zvell of her favorite trysting-place. 

For just once more, 
For my last farewell, 
— Before the ring forever 
To another's will commits my happiness — 
To thee, my faithful tree, 
I flee. 

Thou hast heard his pleading 
And witnessed my consenting 
Hast seen how bright and golden. 
And jewel-studded, he showed the chain 
By which to his authority 
He is intent to shackle me, 
Persuading me that bondage to him 
Is greater freedom than my liberty. 



13 



The Sacred Betrmthal 

If it ever be 

The bondage in his kisses, 

In his endearing arms, 

In love's unfaiHng rapture, 

O then of iron 

Let my bonds be wrought 

But now, before the gate forever closes, 
While yet my soul is mine, 
Its virgin conscience writing-free. 
Before I yield my all, 

And plunge into the ransom-spurning deep, 
O my guardian tree, 
Tell me truly now : 
Will his love endure? 
His kisses last? 
Steadfast his heart abide? 
And his assurance never shadow throw ? 
For, O, if from that golden chain 
The jewels drop, 

And from his eye the love-light die. 
And from his voice the mellow accent fade, 
Then tongue can never tell 
The anguish of my stricken heart. 

Thou wert the sponsor of our troth, 
Does the rustling of thy leaves 
Dare to tell me eye to eye 
That Ronald is a lover true, 
A lover to the end ? 



So gently thy boughs bend low 
And twine with the vine 
To the graceless world 
Undiscolsed to hold this bower mine. 

I came upon this place when a child 
I gathered blue-berries wild. 
Here I sobbed my infant griefs. 
Here I prayed my real prayers : 
Did my penance. 
And walked with God. 
Here I built my castles of hope 
And hid myself 

For my prince to light upon me. 
— My lover led I here. 
And none, never none else. 



14 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

The voices of the bridesmaids are heard, calling the 
bride. 

The maidens call me now. 

why so eager to prepare me captive? 
A two-fold meaning hath the bridal dress. 

1 am willing, but there is time, 

For anon, then, virgins, call in vain. 

In my last leave-taking let me linger : 

'Tis my girlhood's sanctuary 

I must leave forever. 

For the last hour my own, 

Then his — 

A consort? 

Or passion's puppet? 

Which? 

Ah, me ! Soothsaying never avails 

When maiden-hopes 

Their heart-strings anchor. 

* * * 

This is the place 
Where Ronald the brave 
Hath wooed me so gently and fiercely, 
Wooed me as maiden loves to be wooed 
By the tyrant-ruler of woman's heart. 
This is the branch, 
And this is the root 

Where so often I made him sit. 

* * 

Thus his arms would round me steal, 

Thus on his bosom I reclined, 

Thus would he speak his love. 

And thus he kissed my lips, 

— Nectar such as angels never drank. — 

How strong, how noble he is, 
So fearless, so daring. 
'Twas in yonder field, 
Ethelried and 1, daisies we sought. 
When my father's mad steer he braved. 
The awful horns I felt 
Entangled in my dress. 
Then Ronald's wild cry, 
His terrible cry of war, I heard, 
— How sweet to me the sound. — 
He seized the beast 
And choked the fuming nostrils. 
O terrible the battle, 

15 



The Sacred Betrothal 

Round and round they circled, 

Great drops of sweat fell from his brow : 

A groan, a mighty pnll. 

And awry was wrenched 

The stifif neck of the brute. 

But to me, how gentle he is, 
Softly, as among downs, 
I nestle in his strength. 
And, as upon velvet, 
I lay my cheek in his hands. 
And gaze into the light of his eyes. 
— O the happiness that here has been mine ! 

I watched him carve his name 
Into the bark of the tree, 
Then over it traced he mine : 
Said he ever holds me above him. 
And made a circle around both : 
Said it was love's fortress, 
As valiant knight he would for me defend. 

Then from near my feet 
He plucked violets 
And twined them into my locks. 
And pelted me with apple-blossoms, 
And from yonder brook 
Gathered forget-me-nots and buttercups. 
And luscious berries out of the meadow 
—With kisses between — he gave me to eat. 
And seized me in his arms 
And kissed me more. 
So Ronald hath loved me here 
As maiden was never loved before. 
But, farewell, sweet trysting-place, fare-well : 
The seal of my fate 
Boldly I break. 

AT THE CASTLE. 

Ended is the wedding-banquet. 
The merry crowd hath danced its last. 
The boisterous guests departed : 
The nuptial benediction 
Ofterdingen's walls o'erspreads. 
Bride and bridegroom the holy hour approach, 
And angel-spirits hover near. 
As the lovers to the feast of love draw nigh 
To drink the cup of Paradise 
The gods to men have given. 

16 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 



INTERLUDE. 

The Woodland Flower. 

A maiden singing: — 

A youth litent for adventures forth 

Par from the city's grime, 

Far from travel's hardened path, 

Into the zvoodland and forest deep. 

There came he upon a rare and precious flozver. 

The Uotver zvould he pluck, 

And rashly tear the bleeding stem 

From its tzvining rootlets forth. 

The petals quivered. 

Softly sang the nightingale above: 

Heal zvhat thou hast broken 

With thy kiss; 

Inznolate zmth thee 

Remain the beauty of her soul. 



17 



The Sacred Betrothal 

ACT II. THE SACRED WEDDING. 
The Bridal Suite at Castle Ofterdingen. 

(Note: In the ancient Tliuringian marriage there often 
was at the conclusion of the public wedding a more sacred 
wedding in which only the chosen friends of bride and 
bridegroom participated. There was an arch for the bride 
to pass through into her new life, an altar to denote her 
consecration and she also wore a symbolical girdle and 
a wreath of flowers.) 

Part I. Song of the Bridesmaids. 

Song addressed the bridegroom, while leading his bride 
through the bridal arch. 

Tenderly now take thy bride. 
In thy heart enshrine her, 
With thy soul adore her, 
Thy queen appoint her, 
As the apple of thine eye 
Do thou guard her. 
Inviolate with thee 
Remain the beauty of her soul. 

Song addressed to the bride, standing by her lover's 
side. 

To-day though art fair. 
Yet on the morrow shalt thou fairer be. 
To-day thou art the rosy bud, 
To-morrow the unfolding bloom. 
Thy crown is now preparing 
For the noon-tide sun 
Thy morning to eclipse. 
Then, O, our sister, as thy lips 
The kiss of womanhood receive, 
Do thou pray for us, 
For to Life's priestess 
Of Heaven nothing is denied. 

The flowers of thy wreath 
Now cast to us 
As sacred token 

That before twelve moons have passed 
We, too, the golden path shall walk. 

Part II. Leonore. 

LEonore;^ Mother, to Beatrice, aside: 

Thus of the jewels of the mother-heart 
Builds youth its summer-house : 
And with lavish hands 

18 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

Scatters the gems 

Of tears and anxious watching 

As if it were the sea-shore's sand. 

Her that is more than Hfe to me 

To him I give: 

Yet must not show the trickhng tear 

And without sign of loss 

Renounce my bosom-treasure, 

Because a wooer 

On her his eye hath cast. 

Joy for them her garlands winds 

While sorrow beckons me 

The dreary path with her to walk. 

motherhood, thou meaning-laden word, 
Storehouse of the heart's 
Unfathomed treasuries, 

From doll to wedding-bells, 

And thence to children's children, 

Thy tortuous emotions 

Rim the gamut of a woman's heart. 

Half joy, half pain : 

Yet neither would I miss 

For of the higher and the lower chords 

Thy soul-deep harmony is wrought. 

T knew my spring was past. 
Yet in my fancy proudly wore 
The summer's bloom upon my brow, 
— Since Venice's mirrors 
Have not yet tinged my hair with gray — 
When Berthelind, my first-born, came, 
Drew me aside, and stammered : 
"Mother, O Grandmother dear." 
Then I heard the toll of autumn leaves. 
And bade my quivering heart 
Turn to view the setting- sun. 

1 can grow no more. 
No longer glad surprises 
Are held for me in store. 
Hence only can I give : 
Nevermore receive. 

My joy must be 

With others to rejoice. 

And from younger faces 

Wipe the tears, 

Friend, counselor and guide 

19 



The Sacred Betr(ffhal 

Through life's entangled mazes 

Perchance I may yet be : 

But actor on the stage 

In its enchanted dream ? 

Not once again. 

— Gone are my days of youth. 

Ah, for love, 

Life is much too short. 

'Twas but yesterday 
Tiny garments I fashioned 
In hope of promises yet unfulfilled. 
(With daring I had braved the dawn, 
And with a song my eager heart, 
If fate had so ordained, 
To its execution would have gone.) 
But to-day with other feelings 
I watch my daughters do the same. 

One by one 
Are my blossoms plucked 
To shine for other eyes. 
Soon a branchless tree. 
Of its glory shorn, 
I stand. 

See how he snatches her from me, 
And as robber to his lair 
He carries her. 
And she herself 
Bids me welcome 
The spoiler of my heart : 
For that she has a mother 
A bride knows not. 

Ah, woman never gives herself alone : 
Her own, and her mother's soul, 
Both she strews at her lover's feet. 

Yet do I acknowledge 
That dear to me is Ronald : 
Since I of my son. 
And he of his mother is bereft. 
When first to me 
Beatrice brought him in 
He grasped my hand and kissed it 
And faintly lisped the wonder- word 
"Mother" unto me. 



20 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

Then tears filled his pleading eye. 
I kissed him on the brow 

And softly answered, "Son," 
Then left them to each other. 
Fled to my room and wept ; 
For in tears alone the woman-heart 
Can gush its fulness forth. 

But to-night, not yet 
Is the time of tears, 
A little longer 

Must I steel myself against the floods 
That no discord in their joy be heard. 
With happy mien will I stand 
Till the breaking of all ties is done: 
Then will I take my empty heart 
And we will weep, 
Alone will we weep. 

Part III. The Flower-Girls. 

Young Flower-Girl (passing through the bridal 
arch) : 

I know not what I carry, 

Nor why upon this altar 

These flowers so tremblingly I lay. 

My heart, O my heart, 

With fear and joy 

It flutters strange and full. 

I know a youth so fair. 

He looked on me the other day: 

O what meant his look? 

What meant his look? 

Se:cond FlowEr-Girl : — 

With reverence this flower 
From thy bridal girdle 
To my breast I pin : 
For I am older, sisters, than you think. 
My heart is ready. 
Pining, ah, for him 
Who is my sun. 

. To my lips this flower I press, 
Now do I consecrate myself : 
After this no other kiss. 
Till he whose right it is 
Shall come. 



21 



The Sacred BetrSthal 

Older FlowER-Girl, aside: 

O lover mine ! 
Why dost thou tarry? 
Pluck up thy courage 
And make bold 
To ask of me the question 
Which most I dread, 
Yet almost dying, long to hear. 

lisp the pregnant word 

That shall make me faint and pale 
And shake me as an aspen leaf. 
To thy arrow 

1 my heart lay bare. 

ask of me, 
And ask enough 

That I be no longer free. 

But be pledged forever unto thee. 

Ethelried, Sister to Beatrice, one of the Brides- 
maids: 

1 must not, I dare not tell, 
Yet silence cannot keep, 
Have ever you seen 

A face so blushing. 
And lips so red as mine? 
A girl as a dove so shy 
And happy as the lark? 

The reason? — 
He hath kissed me, 
— Much, O much, against my will. — 
And I kissed him back 
(Against my will). 
He clasped me in his arms. 
He drew me to his breast, 
I said "You must not !" 
He drew me closer, 
(I could not breathe), 
I held him fast. 
And kissed once more. 
How many followed, I cannot confess : 
For you would never believe me 
They could be so many, 
So sweet and so long. 
'Tis our secret, 

22 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

For our love is true : 

I am happy, 

His kiss hath made me so. 

A Bridesmaid, to herself:- 

When for the holy war 
From our village he departed, 
He took me by the hand : 
He pressed it warmly, 
Then caressed it. 
And looked into my eyes 
Down into my heart. 
He went, 
And never message has he sent me. 

men are fickle. 
Men are false. 

Perhaps he meant it not. 
But my heart is heavy. 
He broke the sacred seal, 
And kept the key : 

1 cannot be another's. 
Yet he claims me not. 
I am forsaken. 

In the silent watches of the night 
I shed my burning tears, 
The vision faileth me. 
My hope is dimmed. 
My heart is sore. 

Rosamund, Beatrice's youngest sister: 

O Beatrice, the dearest of my sisters. 

Till Ronald came 

All thy heart I possessed. 

(Mayhap for thy sake 

Do I forgive him). 

O the men — 
From thy lips 

Thy last virgin kiss 

Have I come to snatch, 

And well-guarded 

Will I keep it in my vow 

Never to be bound or wed : 

For youth's holiday 

In the marriage-ring is ended. 

Each wedding leaner makes 

My comradeship. 

23 



The Sacred Betrothal 

Berthelind scarce knows me now 

Since her baby came 

(The sweet httle thief) 

— She says I do not understand — 

And in her happiness 

No room for me hath Ethelried, 

In a day is she a woman grown : 

She romps with me no more. 

And, dearest Beatrice, 

I know it well. 

As to thy lover thou art closer drawn 

To me wilt thou colder grow. 

I hate the men, 

The cause of this 

And all of woman's griefs. 

I hate them all — 

All but One. 

Berthelind, Beatrice's married sister, while the bridal 
candles and incense are lit, in a ivhisper: 
O sister dear, the fairest of us four, 
Soon at life's altar shalt thou stand 
And heaven's blessing claim. 
Let me whisper in thy ear 
Not to fear 

When the dawn of womanhood 
Thy being thrills. 
Thy lover is an honorable man, 
(I've read it in his eye) 
Tender and kind. 
Strong to rule the unruly realm. 
Unwaveringly cast thyself into his trust 
And without question 
Give as woman gives. 

With gladness 
Thy treasure shalt thou bear, 
The hallowed secret know. 
And find thy nature's satisfying, 
For the tenderest joy 
Of the deepest pain is born. 



24 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

Part IV. Final Chorus of the Bridesmaids, 

(While leaving the bridal hozver.) 

A bridegroom so handsome, 
So manly, 
To thy safekeeping 
We commit our sister 
Spotless as Eve in Paradise 
Heaven's perfect handiwork. 
With thy strength overshadow her. 
With thy life redeem her: 
Worthily to thy arms 
Receive her ! Good-Night. 

Chorus of the Flower-Girls. 

Flowers red, flowers white, 
Flowers young, flowers fresh. 
Flowers enchanted, flowers prophesying 
At thy feet we strew : 
For thy path 

Is the path of roses and of lilies : 
The mystery that with the rainbow's halo 
Shall thy face transform : 
For youth's one sweetest hour 
Is the bridal hour. — Good-Night. 

ACT III. RAGNI, THE OUTCAST. 

Ragni, a fanner companion of Beatrice and her 
friends, but noiv an outcast, has stealthily ap- 
proached the castle-zvindozv, and zvith her young 
babe secretly zvatched the nuptials: 

O Beatrice, never canst thou know 

How the innocent do suffer. 

'Tis well thou thinkest not of me this hour. 

For I would not mar thy joy : 

Only from afar behold 

What for myself I hoped. 

Yet each flower in thy wreath 

Is to my side a pricking thorn. 

I loved so much, so truly, 

And trusted so confidingly: 

1 believed him honest as myself. 

But he basely left me : 

Left me with the pledge 

Of woman's crowning-glory : 

The babe that now proclaims my shame. 

25 



The Sacred Betrothal 

Proud as the proudest 
By his side would 1 have walked, 
And with my infant shown myself 
At every public concourse triumphant 
That I am not a woman born in vain. 
But, ah, my darling. 
How heavily thy father's sins 
Do fall upon us ! 

He forsook me, 
Broke the oath he swore me : 
Wherefore, O my sisters, ye tread me under 

foot. 
Ye mock me for my trust. 
And hold your skirts aloof from me 
As if I were a viper. 
With fresh stumbling blocks 
Ye daily pave my thorny path. 
I am cast off, 

Therefore ye declare me fallen. 
O for a friendly tear, 
A sympathizing heart ! 
But alas there is no bosom-friend. 
Nor boon-companion, nor sister 
For her whom her lover wronged. 

But for my babe, in part 
Ye would forgive me. 
— As if the sin were less 
That is in secret done. — 
Ye know not what I suffer: 
Ye know not how I love 
This orphan-child, ye call a bastard. 
And a child of sin. 
Nay, to me 'tis a child of succor, 
'Twas born of faith and love, 
'Tis my inmost own 
Twice am I its mother 
Once in the God-appointed pains 
And now in persecution. 
Why do ye judge so harshly: 
The child sinned not, 
And I, its mother, 
Suffer, as no other mortals suffer. 
His father's love hath failed him, 
But never faileth 
Mother-love and woman's constancy. 

26 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

Ah, my fatherless darHng, 
On what unfriendly shores art thou cast. 
The righteous wish thee dead, 
The scoffers mark thee as the harlot's child, 
And hypocrites hail thee 
As the welcome prod 
To gash my bleeding heart anew. 
Because thy father left us 
Must we ever tremble 
As the sparrow from the hawk, 
And walk with downcast eyes, 
And creep about by night, 
(For in the sunlight scorners sit) 
And ever eat our bread in tears ? 

let us heaven's judgment seek. 
For surely He that knows it all 
Cannot be so unmerciful 

As is the world to her 
Who loved and was forsaken. 
Come, my sleeping darling, 
Thy mother never was a bride ; 
(Unholy hands robbed us of our crown) 
Let us end our misery. 
'Twas at yonder lake 
On a mild autumn night. 
The grass was yet green, 
The leaves were gold and yellow, 

1 with my lover sat 
(Then still a lover true) 

— When heaven our betrothal witnessed. — 

There, in the cool waves. 
Of that self-same lake 
Will we find the soothing of our sorrow. 

She sekes her babe and in a fit of despair runs zvith 
it to the lake. As she arrives at its shores, the moon 
stands full above the forest. The babe aivakens and 
opens its eyes. 

One last look now, the very last. 
Into these sweet blue eyes. 
A kiss, then the grewsome murmur of the 

waves. 
And all is over. 

Ah, my babe, thou wert his covenant of love. 
In thine eyes I see him once again, 

2'/ 



The Sacred Betrethal 

His better self is there : 
How could he do it? 
Warm upon the bed 
In another's arms now he lies, 
And thou and I, how we suffer 
Homeless in the cold ! 

God, we come : 

In thy mercy this thy child receive. 
(Walks to the brink of the zvater, but hesitates for 
a moment) 

Nay, but thou art his child. 
And my heart not wholly closed to him. 
— But vain is my hope. — 
How have I for thee suffered ! 
—Still will I suffer— 
And uncomplainingly woman's lot 
Upon me take : 

For to make atonement of man's sin 
Was woman born. 
Thou art innocent. 
— Sacred was the hour — 
His baseness I'll forgive 
And heaven bless 

1 thee possess. 



28 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 



INTERLUDE. 

A Bride Adorned for Her 

Husband. 

A maiden singing: 

Why such infinite pains 

For my dress 

And my adorning? 

'Tis for him. 

His joy 

Is all my thought and care. 

No misplaced lock 

Must shoiv hair. 

No unsinoothed riiMe 

Disclose my dress. 

Bach one a treasured Hozver 

One more for him 

To crush and disarrange. 

To the brim tvould I Ml his cup 

And rich his spoiling make 

For Life's one sweetest hour 

Is the Bridal Hour. 



29 



The Sacred Bctmthal 

ACT IV. LEGENDARY. 

Heaven and Earth United in Love's Holy Hour. 

Cupid, Ronald and Beatrice, Nymphs, etc. 

I. LOVE'S HOLY HOUR. 

Cupid, to the lovers: 

When once upon a time 
The Lord of Life 
A charmed flower would plant, 
He did not with lightning rend the sky 
And summoned not the giants of the air 
With thunder-trumpet forth. 
Gentleness he laid upon his mighty strength. 
He sought a shaded, dewy spot, 
He hushed the storm 
And hung ^ol's harp 
Upon the entrance 
Of the foliage-covered bower 
Hid from the garish sun. 
There in the moist earth 
A little root he buried, 
And painted green 
The broad leaves 
Of the jewel's setting. 
The flower-bell 
He made of purest white, 
Gave it a golden heart, 
And sent an angel 
To hide therein 
A maiden-kiss. 

So was the lily of the valley made. 
Modest, yet in beauty unsurpassed. 
Of faith and love and hope 
The emblem grows. 

So kiss the kiss of youth 
As lilies kiss : 
And kiss again, 
And deeper yet again. 
Till ye be no longer twain. 

Beatrice, to herself: 

I am nearly faint. 
My bosom heaves. 
My heart beats fast, 

30 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

A virgin I am to the altar led 
To be a woman born. 

Ronald, to himself: 

How pure, 
How beautiful and lovely, 
Is Beatrice, my bride. 
How trustful the questioning 
Of her eyes ! 

What Hps for kissing made! 
Fair art thou as the placid lake, 
Thy face of heaven's blue 
The perfect mirror. 
O may no cloud thy radiance dim 
As in awe I take thee to myself 
And in thy kisses bathe. 



I dare not look again. 
My heart keep still, 
The consort of the gods 
Is not for thee. 

Then to Beatrice, taking her hand and caressing it: 

Dearest, dost remember. 
When first thou gavest me this hand? 
'Twas at my mother's grave. 
Thou stood'st beside me there, 
'Twas God who led thee there. 
In that hour of darkness 
Thou came'st a shining star 
Across my path. 

Thy gentle sympathy brought hope 
In hopeless days. 
Thou griev'dst with me. 
And assuaged'st my grief. 
Thy modest dignity entranced my heart. 

Sweet were our wooing days. 
Sweet the light 
Then shining in thine eyes. 
I knew thou lovedst me truly. 
Yet kep'st thyself a guarded fortress. 
But in that hour so holy 
When the stars their love-beams twinkle. 
And angels from immortal thrones descend 

31 



The Sacred BetroPhal 

To sigh for mortal bliss 

Thou didst of me accept thy bridal kiss. 

the thrills and rapture of that kiss ! 
On this day that thou art wholly mine, 
O kiss ifc to me again 

A thousand thousand times. 
CuriD, handing Beatrice Love's magic mirror, reveal- 
ing her lover: 
Beatrice, absorbed in the mirror: 

1 always knew my Ronald was a man, 
And altogetlier a man. 

Yet far handsomer is he 

Than ever I divined. 

How erect he stands. 

How graceful in his strength, 

From head to foot 

No blemish upon him anywhere. 

No puny, weakling seed 

From him can issue. 

O Ronald, gladly and undismayed 

Is Beatrice thy bride. 

O that I had a thousand hearts to give 
Instead of one. 
And were a goddess now. 
Then heaven's lights would I pluck 
To weave my lover's crown : 
Yet though I gave the day, 
And all the brightness of the sky, 
'Twere not half I fain would sfive to thee. 



32 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

II. ELYSIUM. 

The Betrothed Asleep, or in a Dream. The Angel- 
Choir, Nymphs, Furies, etc. 

Historical. 

According to an old Tlniringian legend, each undefiled 
earthly marriage had a heavenly counterpart. It was said 
that at the instant of the wedded bridegroom's first kiss, 
the souls of the lovers were transplanted to Heaven by 
two bridal nymphs, named Nereid and Naiad, who con- 
ducted them to the Elysian regions and acted as their 
guide through the heavenly nuptials. 

Antiphonal lightning from the Evening and Morn- 
ing stars announces to the dzvellers in heaven the 
approach of the Bridal Souls. 

SONG OF THE HEAVENLY CHOIR. 
Hail to the Holy One, 
Hail to the Chosen One, 
Hail to the Bride, 
The morning-star of Life. 

Naiad, a nymph, to the Betrothed: 
O Happy mortals, 
Who have vowed the vow 
Heaven-pleasing, 
Earth-redeeming, 
Here in Elysium's bowers 
Plight your troth anew 
That everything on earth begim 
In heaven its completion find. 

Neirdid, a nymph, to Ronald: 

Consider the jewel that to thee is given. 
For thou knowest not 
The age-long groaning of the universe, 
The yearning, silent brooding 
Of the Spirit 
Till from chaos 
Woman's beauty did arise : 
Nor how in agonies untold 
And blindly groping, 
Ever upward striving, 
Ever thwarted, devious paths 
Compelled to wander, 
Seeking light 

33 



The Sacred Betrothal 

And never the veil of darkness 

Fully piercing, 

Thirsting- after truth. 

And still unquenched remaining: 

O in what birth-throes 

Is perfection born! 

— 'There she stands, 

Heaven's glory, now thy bride. 

Ronald, upon beholding a vision of Beatrice: 
O Beatrice, my bride. 
How spotlessly thy robe of innocence 
Thy hidden worth proclaims. 
Thy eyes, thy lips, thy hair 
Betray the sapphire-glow within. 
How marvelous the soul 
That such an habitation 
For its dwelling framed ! 
Thy skin so white ; 
Thy crimson blush 
As roses in the morning-dew. 
Thy arms a Goddess lent thee, 
Thy hands the Graces kissed. 
Thy loins in Beauty's curves enclosed. 
Thy feet with angel sandals shod : 
Thou art the queen of heaven 
And fairer than the fair, 
Never eyes have seen such comeliness 
As can with thee compare. 

CuNiNA, the disconsolate nymph of heaven, ap- 
proaches to conduct the lovers to Fensalir, zvhere they 
are to drink the Cup of Immortality. 

(Note: It is said that Cunina always took unusual in- 
terest in the aflFairs of men. Once she witnessed the blush 
of a maiden at her first kiss and at another time came upon 
a young mother at play with her babe. She believed that 
here she saw happiness unknown in heaven. Thereafter 
she ever remained disconsolate.) 

Cunina, to the lovers: 

I have dwelt on earth 
And seen its sorrows. 
Beheld its pains 
And mourned the desolation 
That from human sin leaps forth : 
Yet love for all is compensation, 

34 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

The healing balm for deepest wounds. 

We here are called the Blest : 

We have no night, 

And hence know not the morning thrill. 

Here, where we never grow old. 

We were never young. 

We, that weep not at the grave. 

Can never feel the cradle-smile 

Tugging at the mother-heart 

And where there is no sorrow 

Rejoicing hath but half its worth. 

O, for an hour of youth and love 

I would exchange my changeless bliss 

And count not death 

Too high a price 

To gain a lover's kiss. 

And if over love that is lost 

I must mourn 

The bitter-sweetness 

Still is sweet. 

(Secretly Cunina nozv hinds the lovers with the sil- 
ver-chord of love to unchanging faithfulness. Furies 
in the background mutter their curses, but are not dis- 
tinctly heard by human ears.) 

First Fury, to the lovers: 

Bride and bridegroom 
Say ye that ye are. 
And in one short hour would quaff 
The happiness 
Of all eternity's distilling. 
Q heedless sons of men. 
Heaven's greatest gift 
Far too lightly do ye judge. 
Never to Fensalir shall ye pass 
Till ye swear 

With your souls forever to pay 
The penalty of faithlessness. 

The Furies, in chorus: 

• And if ye break your vows 
We will rend your heart 
And blind your eyes 
And sink you into the vortex of hell, 

35 



The Sacred Betroihal 

We will, we will. 
CuNiNA, sadly: 

And the innocent 
Shall suffer more than the guilty. 
Second Fury, to Ronald: 

And I will scatter thy youth. 
And shatter thy hopes, 
And the death-knell 
In thy marrow rattle. 

CUNINA : 

And the innocent 

Shall suffer more than the guilty. 
Third Fury^ to Beatrice: 

And with the furrows 

Of sorrow 

Will I mar thy face. 

And for repentance 

There shall be no room 

In thy doom. 
Cunina: 

Afid the innocent 

Shall suffer more than the guilty. 

(Tremblingly Beatrice seeks shelter in Ronald's 
arms, ivho stoops to caress her, whereupon, since loz'C 
is stronger than fear, the Furies vanish.) 

Cunina, to Beatrice: 

O happy daughter of earth, 
Heaven's goldenest path 
Dost thou tread. 
With thee to thy joy 
We may not enter. 
Thy consecration 
Is to us denied : 
For we are vestals only. 
But thou of Life 
The sacred shrine itself. 

(The lovers enter Fensalir.) 

The Heavenly Choir: 

And God saz<.f the works 
Which he had made 
And behold, they ivcre very good. 

36 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

III. FENSALIR, THE TEMPLE OF 
IMMORTALITY. 

The lovers asleep, agitated by dreams and visions. 

Ronald (in a dream), to Beatrice: 

O Beatrice, queen of my heart, 
Surpassing fair thou art. 
Heaven's radiance is upon thy brow, 
And fairies in the silver-spray 
Are thy roseate image tracing. 
Give me thy lips again 
That I may swear my soul anew to thee. 
To the awe of angels let us go, 
Love's sealing there receive 
And our completer self attain. 
At thy being's solemn quiver 
I will near thee stand. 

Beatrice (in a dream), to herself: 

How strange is Love ! 
How deep its mysteries ! 
Who is worthy 
Life's secret springs to touch 
And drink the resurrection-kiss? 
Hera, the Goddess of Health, enters and presents the 
Cup of Immortality to the Lovers: — 

This is the Cup of Immortality, 
Take each your chalice, 
And drink of it. 

— Then self with self exchange — 
And press it to each other's lips. 
And from the self-same spot 
The other drank 
Quaff it to the end 
Till soul in soul dissolve : 
For in the bridal blush to glow 
Is creation's final, perfect end. 

The echo of the Heavenly Choir is heard in the 
portals of Fensalir: 

What in heaven 
God hath joined to-gether, 
Let not man 
Asunder part. 

Z7 



The Sacred Betr9thal 

Ronald (in a vision), to Beatrice, while drinking with 
her the immortal cup: 

O Beatrice, bride of brides, 

With wealth untold 

In thee love's kingdom is endowed. 

I gaze into thine eyes : 

I drink thy soul, 

— Do thou drink mine, — 

'Tis heaven itself — O more than heaven — 

I wed thee to an everlasting kiss, 

I am of thee — O happiness of happiness — 

And thou of me, forever and forever, 

Each other's love-kissed other self. 
Prom Adnir, at the foot of the rainbozu, out of the 
abyss of the Unborn, whose bonds only maiden-hands 
can loosen, prayer ascends to Beatrice's ears: 
From out of the shadowy deep, 

From the timeless gloom 

And fetters of night, 

For our deliverance, 

O maiden, we plead with thee. 

Our unformed beings pity : 

give us the dawn : 

With thyself our hunger still. 
And of the rainbow weave us 
Childhood's garment 
Of laughter and frolicsome days. 
Thy prayers teach our lips, 
And softly sing thy speech our mother-tongue. 
Sow freely of thy heart's aspiring 
Reap in us thy harvest of hope. 
And out of our helplessness 
Build thee the fairest castle 
Of thy soul. 
Beatrice;, sings softly: 
Tiny blossoms 
Praying for the morning sun. 
Tiny hands 

By mother-yearning answered. 
Tiny tears 

By tenderest pity dried : 
Heaven's flowers 

1 water with my hands. 

38' 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

INTERLUDE. 
The Maiden at Her Devotions. 

A maiden singing: 

When at eventide 

At my bedside 

I bend my knees, 

All evil from me flees. 

In the confessing tear 

My God draivs near. 

O blessed hour of prayer, 

Hozv szveet to linger 

In thy fragrant air, 

Where bloom the Howers 

Of the morning-sun. 

ACT V. EUNICE, THE UNWOOED. 

Scene: After the wedding. Eunice, a bridesmaid, 
in her bed-chamber. 

Eunice, sitting upon her bed, partly disrobed, toying 
imth the Howers from the bridal girdle: 

How becomingly did this girdle 
The princess Beatrice encircle ! 
How proud she looked 
When so tenderly 
Ronald did unloosen it! 
How beautiful to be a bride, 
O how I long — 
'Tis woman's glory, 
'Tis her all. 

Was I a woman born 
To be denied my right? 
And shall my nature 
Never reach its full intoxication? 
Nor never know its rightful pangs? 
And never taste the joy 
That lies beyond the mortal agony? 
Shall I never minister my infant's wants. 
No darling carry on my breast? 
O who damns me so to fail 
Of my destiny : 
That childless, unkissed 

39 



The Sacred Betfothal 



And empty-handed 

My lonely, nnmourned grave 

I must seek? 

Full twenty summers have I seen 
Under my window 
The linden-tree 
Deck herself in bridal green ; 
And heard the robin 
Twitter to its mate : 
"Hey-ho, Sprin^ime is lovc-timc, 
Here will we build our nest, 
And rear our brood, 
And live for love 
And love for life, 
Hey-ho, hey-ho." 

O is there no throne 
In the heart of some brave youth 
Where I may reign? 
What sin have I committed 
That no lover 

In the world is found for me? 
Am I not worthy as my sisters? 
Hath' another 
As much as I to give? 
Is it in vain 

That pure I kept myself 
For him who does not come? 

In the dance 
Some have drawn me close, 
And whispered words unlawful : 
For 1 missed the love-lit eyes 
Of Passion's sacred fire 
Guarded holy in the heart. 
Wanton indulgence thev sought 
And would heaven itself defile 
To gain a victim for their lust. 
No woman's heart could they unclasp : 
They meant not as they should, 
They wooed not truly, 
But added to my sorrow 
That tempters there are many 
And lovers none. 
O God, remember me ! 



40 



of Ronald and Beatrice. 

ACT VI. BEATRICE, THE HAPPY. 
The New Life. 

Beatrice, to herself: 

The secret longings of my being 

Are now fulfilled. 

The eternal pleading answered. 

I am a happy bride. 

Proudly my crown I wear, 

The chariots of eternity I guide. 
Then to Ronald: 

My star is risen high. 

With honor thy ring I wear. 

Give thy wife thy lips 

To kiss thee 

With her new kiss. 

At the appointed time 

Thy prayer shall be granted thee. 

:|: * :|: * * 

So now shelter me, 
And watch over me 
With thy tenderest care. 
Sweetly in thy arms 
Will I sleep 
Till the morning dawn 
In the East. 

Then do thou waken me 
With thy husband-kiss. 

POSTLUDE. 

The Treasure of the Toiler's Home, 
or The Husband's Kiss. 

A maiden singing: 

When standing in our door-ivay, 

The ev'en timlight 

Round me gathers, 

And thy child in my arms 

Down the roadside 

His father's form discovers, 

Returning from thy toil, 

And my heart once more 

Beats calm 

In assurance of my prayer anszvered 

That spared thee through the day. 

Then, then, kiss me 

With thy husband-kiss. 

[the end.] 
41 



NOV 18 ^^^^ 



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